Disaster Waiting?
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: He wanted to do it right, from start to finish, but he knew it was too good to be true.
1. Disaster Waiting?

Title: Disaster Waiting?

Author: ScullyAsTrinity

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: …do I… for real. Come on…

Summary: He wanted to do it right, from start to finish, but he knew it was too good to be true.

A/N: Thank you Matthew. As always. And the K and the M for all the chat room antics.

* * *

"I want to do this right."

Sara's head popped out of her locker as she slipped on her jacket. Was he talking to her? Yeah, apparently he was because there was no one else in the locker room. But she asked anyway. "Are you talking to me?"

Grissom nodded, deathly serious. "I want to ask you to dinner, but I want to do it right."

Wait, what? He was asking her to dinner? "Well, the cat's sorta out of the metaphorical bag so, I guess you really don't have to worry about that." Oh, she sure as hell tried to pretend that her heart wasn't beating a mile a minute...

He wasn't dejected, but he was apparently upset with himself. Biting his lip, he turned to leave, held still held high. "Forget I said anything."

"No, just... ask me. Please." Damn, she hadn't meant for that to come out so urgently, so desperate. But, eh, she kinda was, so it was okay.

Paused, he paused and turned back to her, back straight, eyes directly on hers, boring into her it seemed. "Care to have dinner with me Sara?"

"Well, that depends. Does it promise to be sufficiently awkward and yet keep me in a daze for hours afterward?"

Well, that wasn't really the response he'd expected. He'd prepared a number of proper go-to's for her response but hadn't planned on that one. "Uh... sure?"

"Then I'll go with yes." Oh, pounds, tons off of her chest then. Sara felt light, and was afraid she might float off, and get caught in the fan blades on the ceiling. "When?"

"We're both free... on Thursday. So I can... actually make dinner. Not, well, breakfast."

"You're cooking?"

"Is that a problem? If it is..."

"No, no. I'm just... sort of... impressed, and touched."

"Good." He said rather slowly. "I'll uh, what's a good time for you? To show up? At... my place?"

"Whenever." Really, whenever.

"Shall we say... six?"

"Six is fine."

Grissom paused for a moment, going over the words he'd spoken in the last three minutes. "I... wanted to do that right."

Sara's cheeks flushed, a show of absolute endearment. "You did fine."

"No but... I wanted that to be..."

She whisked past him, placing her hand on his upper arm for a moment. "I'll see you tomorrow." She said quietly, smiling delighted.

When she was gone, he whispered to the room, "I wanted that to be perfect."

Thursday came soon enough for Grissom; he'd even wondered if he should put off the... dinner... a few times. It was nerve wracking, knowing the he was putting so much effort into a woman once again. He hadn't stressed that much since, well... since he'd been engaged, But that was ages ago, was neither here nor there. He just knew that this time, this time... he was going to do it right. Play by her rules.

It came as a surprise to Grissom that he was able to get a solid seven hours of sleep on Thursday morning; he'd successfully shut his brain down to a quiet murmur and lulled himself off to oblivion with fleeting thoughts of her smiling face. Her smiling and blushing face.

He'd awoken, flushed, with a parched mouth. This was nerve wracking; he'd forgotten how unglued situations like this made him. But he took a shower, actually applied a tiny bit of cologne, and taken the thought to run a comb through his hair before starting dinner.

It took him a moment to reacquaint himself with his kitchen, as he'd only cooked for himself for... just about as long as he could remember. He looked at all the ingredients lined up and his heart began to race; nerves. So, he put on some light music.

He appreciated the math of music, with he human random element of jazz. Classical was for work, baroque was for thinking... but Stan Getz jazz? That was for art... like cooking. Or Sara. And she was piece of art; beautifully flawed, shaped, tender brushstrokes cascading over-

He could handle it, he really could. He'd do fine.

He'd romanced before. He knew how to touch a woman, how to look at a woman... but Sara wasn't a woman. Damnit, Sara was... Sara was... Sara was Sara. And he wasn't sure if a 'Sara' could even be romanced.

Waiting was frustratingly non-linear. Grissom liked thoughts that formed logical structures, whether straight line reasoning or a complex harmony of ideas. This was ... frustratingly non-linear. So was Sara. Well, that's not true- Sara was more curvilinear, which presented it's own challenges.

But, he forcefully pushed those thoughts from his mind and set about making dinner. Engrossed with making sauce, he barely heard her knock, and was only truly snapped form his culinary reverie by her shouting.

"I, uh, sorry." He just couldn't seem to get one thing right.

But from the smile on her face, he could tell that she didn't really care. And then he stopped looking at her smile and took in her appearance. Hair bone straight, tucked behind her ears. Short-sleeved, off-white dress, much like fresh cream. And at the thought of cream he thought of a cat lapping at it, then just focused solely on the lapping and his mind derailed into the realm of not-coming-back land.

His words flowed easily, "You look..." So far, so good. But then there was silence. 'Come on Gil! You had that one! You had that one. "Sara you look... different." Oh yeah, he definitely wanted to smack his head off of something relatively hard.

But her face didn't fall. Quite the opposite, she grinned. "I uh, thanks. Different is... different of you to... say." And with her hand she gestured at the wine bottle she was carrying, not trusting herself to comment on his attire: black slacks, royal blue shirt. "In true cliché fashion, I brought wine. Forgive me but it felt like the right thing to do."

Awkward, but just a little. Grissom looked at the bottle, smiled slightly at her, took it, and moved back into the kitchen to calm himself. But she followed, peering over his shoulder as he picked up a creamy mixture, preparing to pour it onto the skillet.

"You're making omelets?"

Grissom, adding some whipped egg mixture to a pan and rapidly swirling it with enticing hand motions replied, "Crepes, with mushrooms and wine sauce. We assembled quite a list in grad school- gourmet dishes you can cook over a Bunsen burner. You should try my Pyrex beaker caramel soufflé... but tonight there just wasn't time." Now that, slightly dry, but witty and engaging, came out perfectly. His chest nearly puffed out with pride.

Sara laughed and poured herself a glass of wine. "You're kidding me."

"That's the wonderful thing about being enigmatic, you just never can tell."

Trying in vain not to cover him in a fine spray of Chardonnay Loire 2000, "Are you flirting with me?"

He wasn't nervous, he really, really wasn't. "Should I... not be?" Okay, so he was. A lot.

Sara, god bless her, didn't laugh, but put down her wine and moved a tad closer to him. "Griss, you're doing fine. You need to calm down. It's you and me, and we're eating food together. Not a huge deal."

But his pulse was erratic, pushing the mark of ninety-five. "It is. It is a big deal. Because it's you, and me... and... mushroom crepes. What was I thinking!"

"I don't know Griss, but I like it."

"You do?"

Sara laughed, a tad too huskily for him to handle logically. "Griss, it could be pizza and beer, as long as it's, ya know, with you."

"Excuse me?"

"What, you think I'm showing off these legs just for the food?" And damn it, she had to draw attention to her legs. Unusually tan and so unnaturally long, his eyes were drawn straight to them. Sara felt proud and just a tad feral knowing that he was indeed, 'checking her out'.

"Yes," Grissom struggled with his words. For a moment he felt he should pull at his collar, that it was getting to hot in the kitchen. "Well... effort... noted." And so very appreciated, but he wasn't ready to express that yet.

Her sigh was a sweet symphony to him, and he chose rather than to stumble over more inappropriate words to her, grabbed his wine and sipped. Well, chugged actually. This really, honestly and truly could not be more catastrophic if he tried to make it so.

"You know, this is going exactly like I thought it would." Sara said, curving herself into a chair, her body seeming to kiss it. God, how was it that she could make him jealous of an inanimate object. "Strange, and you know, sloppy..."

His heart stopped beating then and his hands-

"And pretty much perfect."

"Perfect?"

"Mmm." She moaned around a sip of wine. "All of you, and all of me, acting like we should be acting. Not... trying to make this something it isn't. Not trying to make it..." She searched for the words, and once having found them, licked her lips and laughed. "A technicolor dream date."

He'd meant for his retort to be amusing, but it sounded simply strained. "What, this isn't your dream date."

"Mmm, didn't say that. I said it wasn't what other people would hope for. I like this..." She drained her glass, "Just fine. This is what I'd hoped for."

Grissom stopped toying with the spoon he'd been fiddling with to turn and look at her. "Let me work this out, you hoped for me, to be a complete and utter mess, for the two of us to be overtly awkward with each other and-"

"No, no." She interjected. "I'd hoped that you'd just let yourself be for once, and stop trying to hide things from me." Suddenly her nails seemed rather, interesting. "But that's obviously not working for you, so I uh..."

"Sara, I just really, really don't want to ruin this. I don't want this to end up, worse than... I couldn't stand for this to end badly."

"That's sweet, but you're putting to much pressure on this. Just finish the damn food. I'm hungry."

Gil sighed and pushed the concoction around in the pan. "Alright, I'm just, I'm just really making an effort to have this be something close to normal."

Sara got up to refill her wine glass and took it upon herself to set the table. "Hey, I'm not judging, relax."

Grissom put the spatula down next to the pan and slowly turned to her. "What did you say?"

"Uhhh, I'm hungry?"

"After that."

"I'm not judging?"

Gil nodded and stepped over to her. "Sara..."

Her eyes held a hint of paranoia in them. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to kiss you now. I know it might seem a little rash but... I'm going to kiss you now."

The paranoia left her eyes. "Oh. Okay."

But for a moment, he just stood there in front of her, looking rather pensive. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her arms were shaking, just a bit. A hand, slowly, came up to cup one side of her face. Unconsciously, she pushed her cheek into his palm and he shivered, some of his nervousness subsiding.

His other hand reached up to touch the other side of her face; she sighed and let her eyes slip closed.

"Honey," He whispered urgently. "Open your eyes for me. I need to see your eyes."

Doing as she was asked, she looked directly at him and nearly fell over from the intense look in his gaze. His smiled and brushed his lips gently over hers. She couldn't help it; she shivered and brought her hands up to gently touch his arms.

And that was enough, just a touch. He pulled back, brushed her hair away from her neck and went back over to the stove. Sara stood there, in the middle of his kitchen, stock still, processing that feelings coursing through her. "Okay, what the hell spurred that? Not that I'm complaining."

Gil smiled and turned off the stove. "Your amazing capacity to endure... everything I've put you through, both intentionally and unintentionally."

"O...kay."

The tables had turned so suddenly, and now she was the one who was nervous. "Let's eat, shall we?"

"Okay."

There was a plate in front of her but she hadn't touched it. "Sara?" Her head popped up and she looked at him as if she was coming out of a daze.

"Hmm?"

"You going to eat or just sit there all night?"

"Oh, yeah." Picking up her fork, and dug in, surprised by the overwhelming taste of the dish. "Okay, Griss, this is... really good. Where the hell did you learn how to cook like this?"

Gil smiled, the last of his reservations slipping away. "Are you flirting with me?" He asked, asking her the same she had asked him earlier in the evening.

Sara smiled, swallowing the last bit of food that was in his mouth. "No Grissom. If I was flirting with you I'd have said something more along the lines of 'You're doing amazing things to my mouth.'" She smiled at him, his fork stopped mid air between plate and mouth. "Course, then I'd recognize my slip up, and say 'I mean your cooking, your cooking.'"

Lips pursed, he nodded, and just shoveled food into his mouth to keep from speaking.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to embarrass you." Sara said, smiling brightly, nearly gulping down half a glass of her wine. This was just too... fun. Too... nice.

They finished their dinner, sneaking glances back and forth at one another, ducking to contain smiles.

"Is this where it gets weird and silent?" Sara asked.

Grissom got up to clear the table. "What, you mean it isn't already." He said dryly, running water over the dishes before he poured himself another glass of wine.

Sara was loose and relaxed between the wine and the food. "You know, we were doing pretty well before." She dangled the crystal glass in her fingers, trying to be nonchalant, but there was a glint in her eye that Grissom didn't miss.

"Before? You mean, before all this?" He gestured to their surroundings and Sara shook her head and laughed just a tiny bit.

"I meant before..." She stood up and placed her wine down on the table. "When we... were..." Looking down at the floor, she remembered where she was standing when she'd been kissed. "When we were right here." She planted her feet firmly on the floor, hands by her sides, stood and waited for him to get it.

"What?" He put down his glass as well and- "Oh!"

Grissom moved to stand in front of her, hands on her upper arms. "Nervous?"

She nodded.

"Don't be."

He kissed her then, hands once more on her face, but not as slowly, not nearly as slow. And this time, well, she groaned, and that spurred his hands to the back of her neck. And then it wasn't really kissing; it was full blown making out, right there in the kitchen.

He pulled back from her, breathless. "Did I do that right?"

Sara braced herself back against the counter and looked up at him; lips pink, hair ruffled, breath coming out in heaves.

"I don't think there's a way you can do that wrong."


	2. Pillow Talk

A/N: Blame Lauren, she sorta begged for it.

Clandestine.

He couldn't get enough of kissing her. It's become an addiction, one that he attempted not to succumb to in the halls of CSI. Quite a task, but he'd been able to hold back, wait until he got to her apartment or vice versa.

But generally, he had her pressed against the hard wood in seconds, his lips falling on hers, always stealing the laugh away from her. He'd kiss just about every inch of exposed skin before he would stop himself, if only to breathe. It was a nice existence. Working and kissing and kissing some more after the initial kissing.

The bane of his existence was her lips and her tongue and the gentle sighs she would emit when he'd press his open mouth to the pulse point on her neck. Yes she was alive, but she was resilient when his lips were on her.

It'd become a pattern. Their time together was spent talking, reading, and lying in bed together, kissing... and trying desperately not to do anything more. It wasn't that they weren't ready for it, far from it. If he'd taken her there on their first night, swept the dishes off the kitchen table and laid waste to her confusion, they both would have woken up in the morning and done it again.

Now, they were just proving to each other that they could hold out. That their relationship was going to be built on something other than sex.

He was kissing her all over and no one knew.

And if no one knew they were kissing, what were the chances that no one would know that they were doing other more, invasive things?

Grissom was ready to test that theory but he wasn't going to push the envelope. He was going to let things happen naturally; they'd just... fall into it. And when it happened, it happened. He wasn't rushing it but he wasn't putting it off either.

It hadn't happened like she'd intended it to; it hadn't happened like she wanted it to. In his house, after shift, it was normal enough for them to be found eating breakfast, and they were. But she'd spilled orange juice on her shirt, and swore, and he was sweet enough to offer her one of his shirts.

But seeing her, afterwards, swathed in his UCLA tee shirt, screwed up his heart so tightly that he couldn't breathe.

"What?" She asked, looking down at herself, scrutinizing the shirt, wondering if she was making an ass out of herself somehow.

He walked slowly to her, and there, in his kitchen, like the first time, he kissed her. And she didn't stop him when he lifted the shirt from her, leaving her in his arms, white cotton and jeans. His arms were still around her and she shivered feeling the skin of his arms sliding over her back.

There was no place to go but his bedroom after that. There really wasn't an option. Sure, they stumbled and nearly fell... twice... on the way down his hall. Sure, he smacked his elbow into the wall rather hard, attempting to walk her backward while walking himself in a straight line.

His immense brilliance and finesse didn't prove to be in attendance, especially when he couldn't succeed in removing her bra. "God damn it, is there a lock on this thing?" He huffed out, tugging at the material vehemently. She swatted his hands away and unhooked her bra in a matter of seconds, throwing it in his face.

His face twisted to look annoyed, but he fell to her neck, wishing for a moment that he could take up residence there. It was just so warm and smooth and delicious. He bit a tad too hard and she yelped and ran her hands through his hair and brought his lips up to hers again.

He had her under him and was kissing her brow line when he wondered... did he even have a... was there...he couldn't have forgotten to bring any... it just wasn't-

"Griss, Griss grab my pants." He shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs and asked her to repeat what she'd said. "Grab my pants!"

"Why?"

"Well, for starters... do you have any condoms genius?" Oh, well, no he didn't but- "Grab me my pants."

He did, but only because she was glaring at him in such a manner that left him no alternative. And, well, he didn't have a condom, so he really didn't have an alternative.

Okay, he needed to remember some things, don't rush things and don't rush ahead and... oh. Coherent thought was pretty much moot at that point, when she gasped and clutched him.

He wouldn't have been a man if he weren't impressed with himself for having such a gorgeous, lithe woman on top of him. Not that he knew why she wanted to be in that compromising position on top of him...

But then again, he wouldn't have been a man if he didn't want to be dominant in that situation, their first time, so he flipped her over rather quickly and pinned her under him. It wounded his ego, however, when she laughed aloud, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, chuckling mercilessly.

She couldn't feel more at once: delighted, aroused, loved, scared, nauseous, relaxed, jittery. But above it all, god she felt him just, loving her and it made her too giddy to function.

"What?"

Sara's eyes squeezed shut as she laughed harder and shook her head, telling him that she just couldn't speak at the moment. She turned her head into the pillow and laughed harder. His face fell and he braced more of his weight on his hands and prepared to roll off of her.

That snapped her from her laughing fit. "No! No, no no no." Grabbing him around the shoulders, she pulled him back forcefully to her.

Okay, he was confused. Very, very confused.

"I just, oh god, I just. I love you." And there she was, laughing again. How could she laugh after saying something like that!

"...oh." He knew it most certainly could not be more awkward than it was right that second. Him, inside of her, on top of her; she, under him, laughing, tears rolling down her face, telling him in the silliest voice possible, that she loved him. 'Oh' indeed.

Sara smiled and squeezed his shoulders. "Sorry, just I uh..."

"Sara." She shut up. "Stop talking." She bit her lip and smiled and flushed pink.

"I love you too." He said seriously, kissed her and began to move.

Well, that felt nice, getting that off of his chest.

It felt even nicer, being inside of her. She felt... trusting. If nothing else he felt that he could let go, with her beneath him, around him, now loving him in a way he was fairly certain that no one else had or could. It was positively ethereal really, hearing her gasp, seeing her eyes clamp shut when he touched her between her legs. Positively amazing what he'd been starving himself of.

Her hiss of a voice snapped him from his internal dialogue.

Brows raised, not trusting his voice to ask her to say it again.

"Kiss me." She gasped.

Of course. Of course he would forget to do something, of course he'd overlook something. Damn it; he kissed her, lazily, slowly, perfect. Not because of anything he did, or even because of how beautiful she was, but perfect because it was her and he just... loved her.

The one thing that he was sure to do, was wait for her. And he did, holding out until she gasped and gritted her teeth and dug her nails into his back until he bled. He let go, strangled sounds coming from his throat, sounding like he was having car trouble.

They fell together on the bed, breathing heavy. For a moment, Sara wondered if he was about to have a heart attack, the way he was clutching his chest, but his arm snaked out and dragged her to him. It didn't matter that they were on the wet spot. It didn't matter that his shirt had gotten ripped when he'd been taking it off her. It didn't matter that they'd left the coffee pot on... oh wait, it did matter.

Sara climbed from the bed to shut it off and came back on wobbly legs. She was shamelessly naked and Grissom could clearly see the red marks he'd left on her body. A violent shudder when through him, he'd claimed her, literally claimed her with his mouth and teeth and tongue.

He felt powerful and heady and, well, more than a little sleepy. So when she climbed back into bed and pulled her to him, he found it only logical to shut his eyes. Sara, however, had other ideas.

She twisted in his arms and he opened his eyes to be met with hers. She smiled. He smiled back.

They were silent.

"What am I forgetting?" He asked aloud, squeezing her side gently.

Sara moved in and kissed him languidly. She leaned back and whispered, tired herself, "Pillow talk."


End file.
